Didn't Ask for Pinions
by Wayward-Green
Summary: "Mr. Comatose" gets witch-ed and "Team Free Will" tries to figure out why. Motives are most likely nefarious. Chapter Seven: A small outing. (No slash, genfic)
1. Ch 1: Pinions Not Required

This story takes place in an ambiguous timeline sometime after the season 11 finale, after Sam has returned, and when some semblance of normality is achieved with the characters and their respective story-lines. As we all know, as far as the writers and Bob Singer is concerned, that this will never happen. I'm going to go ahead and call this a divergence from canon and an AU from some point in season 12 that may or may not ever happen.

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Rowena, Crowley, and Mary

I'm notorious for not finishing stories. For those with a phobia of being left hanging either pester the hell out of me if you're enjoying the story or schedule a lamenting. I apologize ahead of time. Accept cookies on my behalf. I'll pay you back.

* * *

Dean had received the text around midnight and had woken up Sam from the next room. They both decided not to wake Mary, their mother. Instead, like good little boys, they left a post-it note where she could find it. Mary had not yet mastered the details of technology so physical notes worked much better than online notifications or text messages.

Together they traced the GPS on the phone it had originated to pinpoint the location. Later they would realize what a miracle it was to be able to do so after seeing the phone's state.

Unsurprisingly, the location was an abandoned warehouse. All bad shit tended to go down in warehouses. It wasn't all that far from the Men of Letters bunker either. This wasn't surprising considering Castiel didn't tend to stray far from the bunker on his nightly walks. Being an angel and not sleeping tended to inspire some restlessness, especially with still being grounded by lack of flight. Cas hadn't really talked about it, but they were all aware he wasn't currently able to transport anywhere. The reason was unclear.

Cas' message read, in swiftly typed text that was very uncharacteristic of the angel:

"ned help cme quik"

After Sam had traced the phone, Dean having attempted several times to call and text with no response, they wasted no time in arming to the gills with weaponry and taking off to find their friend.

When they arrived at what could have been any large, abandoned warehouse in any small industrial park they wasted no time sprinting to the doors and all but kicking them in.

Their forms were silhouetted by the street lamp light shining through the door-frame, edges of weapons cutting into the rounded and broad statures of the brothers; they paused for a second to take in the scene.

A flash of red hair shifted to Rowena's enigmatic eyes widening in their presence.

"Shit," she murmured as she caught sight of the two.

But more worrisome than the presence of a very powerful witch was the book she was reading out of, The Book of the Damned. And if that didn't create enough worry the circle of fire surrounding a kneeling Castiel, his face contorted in tightly controlled agony, and the near-white glow coming from his torso showing through his shirt, suit, and coat was a catalyst in and of itself for Dean to stalk right up, unhesitating, to Rowena as she spat the ancient words of some

God-forsaken (literally) spell and point a gun to her head and shoot.

And the only reason Dean had been the one to shoot Rowena was because he acted faster than Sam. Sam watched the scene with tightly coiled energy. To both he and Dean's disappointment, Rowena's form dissipated. Her image was a trick, they both realized. And, also, (not having time to think of the whys or hows) Castiel was still in danger.

The brothers sprinted to the angel trap and batted the flames with their feet.

"Cas? Cas!" Dean exclaimed as he knelt in front of the angel and propped up his friend's head with his hand to get a better look at the pallid and pained face. "How're ya doin' buddy?"

Cas' grimace gave a sharp, incredulous twist as he squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows, his body flinching with the white-hot pain that erupted through his abdomen and up to his shoulders and neck.

"Really?" he squeezed out with a turn of his head into Dean's hand.

Sam was beside him too, now, also on his knees after patting out some of the excess fire from the holy oil. Dean had the decency to look sheepish in Cas' response.

"Hey," Sam said, reticent on touching the angel's glowing form. "Hey, what happened? What's this doing to you? How do we stop it?"

Dean let go of Cas' head when he realized he was holding his own for the moment.

At Sam's question Castiel's face changed from struggling pain to a hint of lost desperation.

"I don't know, Sam," he wheezed. "I don't know what she did to me. I've...never felt this," he grunted, "I don't know what's happening."

Sam looked to Dean with worried eyes. Dean shared the expression before turning back to Cas.

"O-okay. We'll figure it out, okay? H-how are ya feelin' now? I mean-" Dean quickly amended, holding up his hands, "I know it's not good. But are ya stable, at least? Can we move ya?"

"Yeah," Sam chimed in swallowing past his worry, "We can get you back to the bunker. Figure out how to stop this...this whatever it is."

Castiel panted and then shook his head.

"I feel as though I'm being incinerated from the inside out," he struggled to push out. "You should leave. If...if my grace...I will hurt you."

"We ain't going anywhere, pal," Dean said. "It's like Sam said. We're gonna take you to the bunker...get you fixed up or-or stopped at least. No way I'm gonna let you get blown up by that witch bitch."

At this point Dean, as well as Sam, had each taken one of Castiel's hands to steady him. Cas was sweating so much that his hair was stuck to his forehead and rivulets of sweat were dripping down his neck off of the brunette ringlets.

Sam cast a worried glance at Dean. Dean returned it with a glare that said, 'you can leave if you want but I'm staying'.

"Dean's right," Sam finally decided. "You've saved us too many times for us to not try and return the favor."

Cas swallowed as he threw reluctance into his myriad of expressions looking from Sam and back to Dean.

"I don't think you understa-AAAAAAAH!" Cas suddenly screamed. "GAAAAAAAAAH!" His teeth bared as his hands tightened to the brothers and his eyes widened as his breath huffed roughly through his lips.

"Cas?" Dean said, putting another hand on the brunette's elbow. "Hey, hey, stay with us, man. Sam!"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know, Dean; I don't know what's happening to him! Maybe...maybe he is exploding. Look at his torso! That's his grace; it's gotta be. I don't know what we can do. Maybe...here..."

Cas was pliable in their hands now, slumping with harsh breathing and stoned from pain. Sam started taking the angel's trench off as Dean held him propped between them.

"Maybe," Sam continued, "she put some kind of hex bag on him. I dunno."

Dean nodded and helped undress their friend. Castiel tiredly let them do so, not having the energy or focus to question their actions. Neither was even sure Castiel was fully aware after his exclamation of pain. All the while he was panting as if he was running a marathon and as Dean grazed his neck his pulse felt fluttering, faster than was humanly possible.

The light from within Cas illuminated his skin and bones from the inside out. The brothers were having to squint to study his chest and back, seeing if anything was evident. His clothes had contained nothing.

Suddenly Castiel's head shot up and his eyes widened so that his irises were in puddles of round whiteness. He locked eyes with Dean.

"Go..." he croaked. And then, "GOOOOO!"

He stood up with energy he shouldn't have had and pushed them both away, clenching his fists.

"No!" Dean yelled as Sam took him bodily behind a support beam as the light from Castiel's body reached unbearable levels. They ducked down at Castiel's sharp scream and then at Castiel's real voice breaking through his vessel. They could hear, feel, his voice even through their hands clapping onto their ears.

This is the sound of an angel screaming in agony, Dean thought through closed eyes and covered ears.

Lights shattered and darkened. Windows exploded. Electricity rained down from busted power lines exploding in their attempts to contain the energy exemplified by Castiel's true voice.

And then it was dark. The street lamps from outside the window created an eerie glow as Sam and Dean rose from their crouched positions behind the column.

"Cas..." Dean whispered seeing the slumped form piled on the floor in the middle of the charred remains of the holy oil circle.

It was too dark to see if there was also the ash outline of wings behind him. It was too dark to tell if their friend was dead. This, of course, gave them both hope that maybe, somehow, he had survived whatever Rowena had done.

They approached him tentatively as if waiting for him to suddenly jump up. Sam was the first to notice.

"Dean, he's breathing!" he said in hushed excitement and their approach to his form was faster.

Both grabbed the front of each shoulder and propped him up from his forward slump.

"Hey, Cas," Sam prodded gently.

The only way they knew Cas' eyes had opened in the shadow was the glimmer of blue they reflected and the way the light shifted as he looked from one brother to the next.

"I'm still here," Cas slurred hoarsely with confusion and surprise.

"Damn right you are!" Dean exclaimed, his teeth shining as he grinned.

"Cas, how do you feel?" Sam interjected, concerned.

It took Cas a few breaths to answer, "Terrible." A few more breaths and then, "I...hurt."

Dean swallowed sharing a glance with Sam.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said roughly, "you think there's a breaker box around here? Maybe we could get some of these lights back on, ones that aren't busted. See what we're dealing with?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, on it," Sam nodded distractedly letting Dean shoulder Cas' weight as he got up to look around in the most common places for an electrical box. He turned on his phone and used the flashlight app to find his way around.

Dean did the same thing but shined it on Cas so he could examine his face and torso.

"Hey, hey. You're still here, right? That's a good thing," Dean said, trying to be motivating.

Castiel, who was having trouble keeping his head up and eyes opened, gave a humorless huff of laughter as he squared his eyes with Dean's.

"Yes," he said, "I am keenly aware of how much I still exist." He swallowed as he shivered and his shivering inspired a new annoyed look of discomfort.

Dean's smile dropped.

"We'll get this figured out," he promised.

Castiel nodded with a hard swallow in his throat.

Dean turned his head away from Cas to a clicking sound and moments later the intact lights flickered into existence.

"Hey! And there was li..." Dean said as he turned to face Cas. His eyes widened as grappled with the truth in what he was seeing in front of him.

"Hoooooly shit," Dean exclaimed in shock.

"I don't think that's how that quote goes, Dean," Cas informed him, still trying to regain his composure and working diligently to support his own head. He tilted his head to the side quizzically as Dean just continued to gawk at something just behind Cas.

"Dean?" Cas tried again. Dean seemed dumbfounded.

Sam approached then from the other side of the warehouse saying, "That's all the lights I could-"

And then the tall man abruptly stopped talking as he, too, stared at Cas.

"Sam?" Cas said, getting worried through his exhaustion. "What-what's wrong? Is there something wrong?"

"You're an angel," Sam replied matter-of-factly but with the words holding a new weight.

"I-yes. What-"

"You have goddamned fucking wings!" Dean shouted. The irony of all of the adjectives was lost in the moment. Later Dean would reflect that the wings were neither damned by God nor fucking.


	2. Ch 2: Keep Your Pinions to Yourself

_"You have goddamned fucking wings!" Dean shouted._

Cas' eyes widened at Dean's exclamation. He wearily looked behind him and quickly found the reason for both Dean and Sam's surprise and awe and the reason for the weight and pain on his shoulders that kept making him wish to crumple in on himself. Two long, feathery wings were draped from his back and hung limply on either side of his body.

"That's...not supposed to be there," he said, almost comically before turning from the scene to both Sam, who was still standing in awe, and Dean, who was lost in the majesty and ridiculousness of it all.

"I..." Cas continued, becoming a little panicked, "I'm not able to manifest my wings. My vessel wasn't made to support them. Human vessels can't possibly be strong enough."

"Why did Rowena want this?" Sam asked after he pushed his eyes from the spell of Cas' wings to the angel's face.

Cas shook his head with a look of intense worry, "I don't know. But this isn't natural. Archangels have the ability to display corporal manifestations of their wings but...but I don't. And even then, it's only for a short time, for display, for awe."

Cas stopped talking when Dean's hand landed on his bare shoulder.

"Hey. We're going to figure this out, okay? We'll find Rowena and make her undo whatever she did," he said. "By the way, so succeeding on the awe thing. Just so you know."

Castiel gave a worried rising of one side of his mouth.

Sam approached the angel and crouched down, speaking softly in that way Sam often did when trying to reassure someone. Dean was grateful for it, because he did not seem to have access to that ability.

"Can you move them? Your wings? It'd probably be a good idea to get you out of here in case

Rowena decides to make an actual appearance. It'd be easier if you could maneuver them," Sam said.

Castiel raised his eyebrows at the question. He looked off to the side, concentrating on the state of his physical form, focusing on what exactly had changed. He nodded, uncertainly.

"My grace has...mapped them into my mind. I can see that, now. I'm...aware of their presence," he answered, measured. "My vessel has also been altered, I believe. Muscles and...bone augmentation. Respiratory system..." he added with a curious squint.

Then Cas looked back behind him again to get an idea of what was surrounding him. He was careful to account for the support columns on either side as his wings rose, inch by inch, with muscles that hadn't existed minutes before. The angel was tired and the weariness was etched on his face as he bent his head forward giving all of energy to the aching muscles lifting his wings.

The sight was stunning, to say the least. The color of Cas' wings was hard to identify clearly. They were light but it was uncertain if they were light grey or light brown or light gold or a mixture of all. They weren't pure white, that was certain.

He was still on his knees but had risen his wings to above his head. And, despite Cas' uncertainty with the naturalness of the physical manifestation of the otherwise trans-dimensional wavelengths his wings usually were, the stretch felt...satisfying. Though it was also tiring.

"Wow, man," said Dean.

"That's...that's actually really cool," Sam agreed, gawking at the 20 foot display.

The wings reached high enough to be back-lit by the lights behind the angel. It was something from a Renaissance painting. It was living art.

The wings fluttered there for a bit before settling down in a light woosh of air at the sides of Castiel's shoulders, draping stiffly on the floor behind him, crossed at the tips. Cas decided that this seemed to be a more comfortable neutral position than before. He likened it, in his mind, to having his arms at his side.

He looked up to the brothers and said, "We should go now."

The brothers nodded distractedly.

"Uh, yeah," Sam muttered. "You need help standing?"

A beat of thought passed before Cas grunted in agreement. Each brother grabbed an arm and hoisted him up. Cas' body started listing backward at the weight of the wings but the brothers were careful to correct for it. After balance had been regained Castiel was steadier, but still accepted the support.

"I'll get your things," Sam said moving to gather Cas' coat and other clothes they'd taken off.

"My phone," Cas said, lazily holding up on arm in indication, "Rowena used her magic to throw it that way as I was contacting you."

It wasn't the wings that were making Cas so unsteady, he realized, but the exhaustion from producing them from his grace. He leaned heavily on Dean.

They had jibbed him about not having a smart phone but Castiel had insisted that basic phones were less distracting. Sam found himself thankful for the decision now because a smart device would not have been as durable. Still, the phone parts had scattered along the concrete floor. Sam gathered them in his hands.

"Uh," Sam said, stuffing the remnants into his pants pocket, "Maybe we can put it back together at the bunker. If not, we'll just get you a new one."

Sam returned to Cas' side and they started leading him out Dean saying, "No idea how I'm gonna fit you in the car, man."

"I can't walk," Castiel said with earnest concern, taking the comment literally, "And I'm sure I can't fly..."

"No, no. We'll get you in there. Might not be comfortable but..." Dean gave a shrug.

* * *

When the trio left the warehouse a figure stepped into the light from a shadow where the lights had remained blown out. Rowena casually made note of the ground around the angel trap until she found something glimmering, stuck to the oil dregs of the circle.

Daintily, the redhead picked up the feather and turned it in the light with a soft smile and then a disappointed squint.

"Well, Ferguson, looks like we'll have to make due with one for now," she said as she turned behind her.

Crowley walked out slowly and took the feather from her.

"Good idea making the duplicate," he admitted grudgingly as he, too, spun the light colored feather between his fingers watching the iridescence change its hue ever so slightly.

"The Winchesters are endlessly predictable," she muttered with a huff. "I am surprised that Dean shot me so readily. We seemed to be getting on so well before..."

"Oh, I'm not, mother. You messed with his things," Crowley said with a smirk. "Hard rules with Dean are not to touch the Moose or the winged martyr. Honestly, I think we did them a favor. Didn't really fit the role of angel before, did he?"

Rowena shrugged, "There's no contest now." She smiled.


	3. Ch 3: Pinionated

It was a nearly impossible feat to fit Cas in the back of Dean's Impala. He easily had a 20 foot wingspan, each wing being about 10 feet long. There was a whole bunch of science on the internet saying that none of this was even mildly possible despite human being's centuries spent daydreaming of having wings. Apparently science hadn't figured in ginger witches and evil magical books.

The brothers winced as Castiel grunted in displeasure at being manhandled by his newly formed feathery growths into a space wholly inadequate in size. In essence, wings folded, it was like trying to pile 5 bodies on one bench seat horizontally. Which, Dean mused, wasn't near as sexy as it sounded.

"Okay…" Sam said, holding his hands out as if to keep everything in place with his mind, "Don't move."

From the pile of feathers there came a displeased, "I can't."

"O-okay. Right. Well...sorry. And...we'll try to hurry getting back home, okay?" Sam consoled with a hopeful look to his brother.

"Hell yeah! Speed of sound!" Dean said with muted enthusiasm.

Though Castiel was undoubtedly the most tired of the three Sam and Dean were flushed and sweaty from having to maneuver their friend into the back seat. Not to mention that Sam's face still bore red welts from an unfortunate spasm that sent Cas' right wing straight into his face.

"Okay, I'm gonna shut the door now," Sam said. He took Cas' grunt as permission and he closed the door softly at the angel's feet.

Cas was very thankful that, despite the history of his wrecked mental status throughout his existence, he had never experienced claustrophobia. Though, there was still time.

"It's not possible," Cas said as Dean started the engine. His voice was muffled by the layers of feathers but the brothers could still tell the exhaustion that edged it.

"What?" Dean snapped, eyes wide.

"The speed of sound," Cas replied. "A 1967 Chevy Impala would not be able to break the sound barrier."

"Are you dissing my baby?" Dean said.

"I would never insult your car, Dean," Cas replied indignantly.

Dean grumped and looked over at Sam who rubbed the red lines on his face with a smirk.

"I think he's still upset about the Lincoln Continental…" Sam suggested softly.

"It was very reliable," came a soft reply from the back.

Dean looked out the back window with a huff of amusement and frowned. He couldn't see behind him through the wing shoved against it.

"Hey, uh, Cas? Can you...sorta...move your wing down from the window," Dean asked.

There was a beat before Cas replied with a stern and agitated, "No!"

"Yep. That's okay. That's fine. I'll just-we'll be good," Dean replied quickly as he backed out of the space with his head out of the window.

They had driven to the bunker in near silence, both Dean and Sam glancing in the back seat to make sure the last third of their group was still with them. Castiel seemed to be sleeping within the awkward canopy of his wings. His slow breaths caused the inside down feathers to flutter rhythmically. Angels with their grace didn't have to sleep. Both brothers decided silently that this was an extenuating circumstance.

"So. Wings," Sam whispered with a huff of air as he stole a look to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied, baffled.

"Why would Rowena want to give Cas physical wings?" Sam asked.

"Hell, I dunno. Maybe she has a wing kink or something?" Dean replied.

"A what?"

"A wing kink. Maybe she just...likes wings?" Dean said with a shrug.

"How...do you know about wing kinks?" Sam said with a furrowed brow. He looked over to his brother suspiciously. "Do you have…"

"What! No!" Then he caught himself and lowered his voice, grateful that they were approaching the door of the bunker. "I don't I just...know about it." He paused. "Some anime has-"

"Nope! I'm good!" Sam said, backtracking and holding up his hands to stop the information he had no desire to know anything about.

Dean shrugged, "You asked." Then, as he turned off the car, he turned around to the mess of feathers behind him, "You awake back there?"

"Unfortunately," the angel grumbled. "I sincerely doubt Rowena has a...wing kink. There must have been a reason...perhaps some sort of ritual that needed to be performed, a door opened."

Cas propped himself with an arm and groaned.

"Hey, what's going on back there, buddy? You in pain?" Dean asked finding Cas' head slouched forward.

"A little," Cas admitted sheepishly, "but more I am just...very tired." His eyes looked up at the brothers' noting their faces. "I'm sure I'll be...uh...better once my vessel is allowed to rest."

"Okay," Sam said. "Let's get him inside in a bed somewhere then."

"Yeah," Dean replied sarcastically, "This should be fun getting him out. It sure was a joy stuffing him in."

Sam gave him a tight look to remind him to show at least a little class and sympathy but Dean just rolled his eyes and exited the car.

The fact was, though, Dean was right. It was tough enough sliding the wings into the back of the car. Sliding them out again with a much more exhausted human body attached was a pretty immense challenge.

"I don't think that's how they bend, Dean!" Cas exclaimed.

"Well...dammit...I don't know wing anatomy! Sam?"

"I don't want to get hit again," Sam said, being extra cautious about touching the appendages this time around.

"I'm sorry about that, Sam," Cas muttered.

"It's fine, Cas," Sam comforted.

In the end, they did manage to maneuver Castiel out of the Impala. He now stood between the two dishevelled brothers barely keeping himself upright. He was still wearing his suit pants and shoes but his shirt and coats were bundled under Sam's arm.

When Cas stood his wings folded over themselves at his back, the tips of his wings joining at the bottom. Castiel found the position comfortable enough, except he could feel the appendages drooping from exhaustion. His chest also felt tight and his arms and legs felt too light. It was all very disorienting. And, of course, he couldn't help the sudden rush of shame at having to be assisted by Sam and Dean. Guilt and shame were things he could now identify about himself that he knew needed improve on. It wasn't because he felt he was not responsible for so many wrongs, but because the motivations to right those wrongs fueled by shame had only proven to make things worse every time he acted upon it. It had taken him millennia to get to that conclusion. It would probably take millennia more to recover. If he ever did.

Dean opened the door and entered. A blond head of hair turned to look up at his arrival from below the landing. The face wore a stern expression and her arms were crossed tightly over her body.

"Hey...mom," Dean said, stilted. "You're up!" He put on a grin.

Sam was holding Cas behind Dean's back as he heard his brother's comment. His eyes widened a little. He wasn't sure what they were expecting. Mary was a hunter despite her desires to leave the life. Of course she'd want to be privy to their escapade.

Mary held up a yellow post-it and read, "Hey Mom, going to save Cas' ass from something. Don't know when we'll be back. Love, Dean. P.S. The milk's out."


	4. Ch 4: The Crushing Weight of Pinions

_Mary held up a yellow post-it and read, "Hey Mom, going to save Cas' ass from something. Don't know when we'll be back. Love, Dean. P.S. The milk's out."_

Mary's lips were tight and Sam rolled his eyes behind Dean's back. Cas' form was still hidden at the entrance at the top of the staircase.

"Shoot, Sam. I think we forgot to pick up milk," Dean said sheepishly. "Heh…"

"Dean," Mary said with a sigh, "I've accepted the fact that you and Sam are hunters. I can't really do anything about that. But please don't feel you have to protect me. And...on a post-it note? Really?" She put the note down finally and attempted to assess the situation.

"Did you find him?" she asked, seeing a form in the shadows behind her eldest.

"Yep," Dean said, unsure of how to segue or prepare her for Castiel's recent bodily additions.

"Dean, please," Cas implored, "I need to sit down."

"C'mon, dude, help me out with him, okay?" Sam added.

Dean still had the instinct of protecting his mother. But as she scowled at him from the bottom of the stairs he pushed that childhood desire aside. He nodded at Sam.

"Here, I got him, c'mon through," Dean said, regaining his hold on Castiel's arm and waist.

Mary's eyes widened as she saw the winged man between the brothers. Her arms dropped from being crossed in front to her sides. She rushed forward to the end of the stairs watching as the three men took each step gingerly until they reached the "war room" at the bottom. Instead of trying to lead the angel to a bed they let him rest in a chair at the large table. Cas put his head on his hands in front of him on the glowing surface. The wings draped over the back of the chair. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than standing.

Sam and Dean landed heavily in chairs on either side of Cas. In was their first real moment to reflect on what had happened and to let the truth of Castiel's situation sink in. Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes. Sam's face was tight in constipated thought.

"Are those-" Mary said, finally coming closer to the angel.

"Yeah," Dean replied, gruffly.

"Are they supposed to-"

"No," Sam supplied softly, his brow still furrowed as he stole a glance at the dark head of hair that lay resolutely on the surface before it.

Mary's brow knit in concern.

"What happened?" she asked.

Over her time in this new era Mary had found a kinship in Castiel. She wasn't sure they were friends, but they certainly had similar struggles with modern technology and terminology. Not even knowing exactly how to categorize her relationship with her own sons, having any sort of familiarity had been welcomed. She hovered at Castiel's back awaiting an answer.

"Rowena," Dean huffed and made a show of scooting out his chair. "I'm getting a beer. Sam?"

Sam considered and nodded.

"Mom?" Dean asked. Mary also nodded.

"...Cas?" Dean said, because the guy, angel or not, looked like he needed a cold one.

"No, thank you," he said, voice soft and muffled.

Dean nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Mary took Dean's seat next to Cas and put a hand on the angel's shoulder.

"So, Rowena did this?" Mary asked, skeptically. Sam nodded in confirmation. "I don't understand. Why?"

"Because she's a bitch?" Dean suggested as he walked back in and laid down three opened bottles of beer on the table. "Because all witches are bitches?" He chuckled at his unplanned rhyme. But he quickly noted that the others were not as amused.

Dean continued, "Cas said it might be a door? Something like...I guess...when the apocalypse first started?" He shrugged. "Like it's a seal?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's possible. Which means she might be trying to break more seals," Sam said with a nod. "I can start researching, see what I can find about seals and angel wings?"

"Sounds good. Hey, Cas, you got any other insider knowledge? Anything about angels showing their wings or…" Dean asked, trailing off.

Castiel's head slowly lifted the table, his eyes glazed in fuzzy comprehension of his surroundings.

"Um. I...I'm not sure," he said, rubbing at his brow. "Archangels display but-um-I don't know much about it…"

"I'll look up stuff on archangels, then," Dean said, his voice a little softer. "It's not like we have any here to talk to."

Mary put a hand on Cas' cheek.

"Looks like we need to get you in a bed," Mary said and Cas sent a little smile her way.

Mary and Dean took up Cas as Sam headed for the library. The closest bedroom was Dean's so they set the angel on top of the blankets. No sooner had his head hit the pillow than Cas' breath evened out.

Mary took the practical black shoes off of his feet. The action was out of instinct of doing the same with her husband after his longer days at work, though that seemed a lifetime ago. She winced as she realized it literally was. She stopped short in stripping his suit pants. She wasn't sure the etiquette on undressing an angel.

"Do you have another blanket?" Mary asked.

"Uh, yeah, in the bottom drawer over there," Dean said, watching his mother closely as she fished out the blue fleece blanket and draped it over Cas' prone form. Something tugged in Dean's chest when he saw Mary do things like that, be motherly. It pulled at old memories that formed a lump in his throat which he worked hard to swallow down.

Dean and Mary went down to where Sam was working in the library. It was almost morning by this point so they made a pot of coffee, toasted up half a dozen frozen waffles, and hit the books and the internet hard.

A few hours later all of their heads were up when they heard a commotion come from Dean's room.

"That can't be good," Dean said.


	5. Ch 5: Your Pinions Matter

Hey, guys. I think the rules say I'm not supposed to leave notes at the top of each chapter, but I feel I need to clarify some things.

First, I don't know how to write Mary so I apologize for the possible static nature of her personality so far. I don't intend to have her be a victim or simply a mom. I feel like her relationship with the present is too complex to fit into one easy role. I also don't intend for Sam to have ill feelings toward her, just uncertainty as to how much he wants to define her as his mother. I have no idea where they are going to take her character in the series.

Second, I'm a little rusty at this, so realize this story is going to have some rough edges. And I'm not talking just grammatically but stylistically and plot-wise. I'm trying to rediscover my style and I'm sort of using this story to do so. It's obvious in some places.

Last, Thank you all for reviewing and favoriting and following! Writer's hearts are very delicate little things and it doesn't take much to make us soar. Also, this chapter will probably be the longest one. It's a little fluffy and then plotty. Please be patient after this one, though, because I've not yet written what comes next.

Thank you! Enjoy!

* * *

 _A few hours later all of their heads were up when they heard a commotion come from Dean's room._

 _"That can't be good," Dean said._

Castiel's eyes opened to an unfamiliar weight on his back and little memory of the trials he'd endured hours before. He felt the weight shift and startled. He stood up on the bed abruptly, tangling himself in the blue blanket Mary had placed on him. His wings unfurled defensively. He heard the _thwap_ they made as they smacked the walls and ceiling. But, as he had forgotten he had wings, he thought it was an attack from behind and ducked and shifted instinctually.

Dean's wall mounted weapons were swept off with a loud clattering. Luckily, Dean was smart about his weapons. They were all unloaded with their safeties on. Thus all the clamor was caused by the sounds of metal smacking on the ground and side table.

Castiel bounded off the bed. He could only make out his wings as something twisted in a blanket behind him and continued trying to escape the appendages. This caused even more calamity as his 20 foot wingspan smacked against walls and items on the dresser and shelves. Lamps and other sundries went flying and crashing to the ground. He lunged away, drowsily, but just couldn't seem to escape the presence.

Dean arrived at the door to his room first, eyes widening as he took in the sight of Castiel running around the mess of Dean's room decor with his wings wrapped up in a blanket. He dared not enter because Sam had, himself, experienced the power of one little slap of a wing. He'd rather not test his own resilience. Instead, he held his hands up and yelled.

"Woah! Cas! Calm the hell down, dude! You're tearin' up my room, man! Hey!" Dean yelled, Sam and Mary were right behind him with shocked expressions.

Cas locked eyes with him, bewildered. He stopped in a defensive pose, and took great breaths still feeling the presence behind him and wondering why Dean hadn't seen it.

"There's something chasing me," Cas explained groggily, tilting his head back to indicate to the blanket. Perhaps only angels could see whatever this was, he thought. "I can't get away from it."

"Okay," Dean said softly, after a sigh. He was far too tired to be snarky about this situation. And Castiel was genuinely bothered. "Okay, just don't move, okay? I'm gonna come over there and show you what it is, okay?"

Cas frowned, "Okay…"

"Okay," Dean repeated, "Just don't move at all. I am NOT about to get bitch slapped by an angel."

Dean edged over with his hands up as if he could ward off a wing attack with some untapped ninja skill. Cas was watching him warily, though his memories were starting to defog a little, his head starting to clear from the deep sleep he'd been in. By the time Dean finally removed the blanket from the wings Castiel remembered everything. He felt very foolish.

"You remember? About the wings? Rowena?" Dean asked, preparing for a possible outburst. But he was only met with Cas' forlorn expression.

"Yes, Dean," he said, rubbing his head. He frowned at the wreckage surrounding them. "I apologize-"

"It's okay. You freaked out. It's over. Now you're okay. Right?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, "Yes. I hope I didn't break anything valuable."

"Nope. Let's not think about it," Dean said with a shake of his head. "Let's just go down stairs. Maybe get some more coffee. You look like you need coffee."

He lead Cas out of his, putting his hands on the back of his wings to guide him. Cas sheepishly obeyed. Sam and Mary separated, letting them through.

"Holy crap, angel wings are soft!" Dean whispered in amazement at the two.

Sam scoffed, "You sure you don't have a wing ki-"

"Shut up!" Dean whispered.

* * *

Castiel sat in the library on a stool surrounded by Sam, Dean, and Mary. He had insisted the stool was far more practical than a chair given his current...state. He listened patiently to what everyone had researched and what had been discovered. He sighed.

"So, essentially, we know nothing more than we did before," he said. "Archangels may display their wings corporeally for a limited time. It takes a great deal of grace to do so. I shouldn't be able to facilitate wings as a seraph. It would immediately drain my grace. I would essentially be human. The wings would crush me. So...the whys of Rowena's motives and the reasons I'm still alive are still...a mystery."

"I...know how to make angel food cake…" Mary said haltingly. They all turned to her. "I still don't get the internet," she admitted. "What's 'pinterest'?"

Dean groaned.

"Something you should stay very VERY far away from," Sam said wisely.

"D'you want another coffee, Cas?" Dean finally said.

Cas' coffee lay untouched and had gone tepid. The angel had humored Dean as he knew his friend needed something to do, to be active. But he simply didn't need the coffee. And he wasn't up to drinking it. The spell must have had some side effects. He still wasn't feeling quite right.

"No thank you, Dean _hic!_ I'm fine," he replied. Cas' body had jolted mid sentence but he didn't seem to notice. Everyone else in the room did, though. Even the feathers on his wings had spiked a little with the jostle.

"I'm sorry-what?" Dean said with a perplexed expression.

But before Cas could reply Sam interrupted, "Did you just...hiccup?"

"What?" Cas said. He hiccuped again and put his hand to his chest seeming less startled and more intrigued. "Hm."

"Do angels hiccup?" Mary asked.

"No," Cas answered.

"Seriously? Rowena has a hiccup fetish, too?" Dean said, incredulous.

"Dean, how do you know-" Sam started.

"I read a lot of fanfic, okay! Don't judge me!" Dean snapped, pointing his finger at his brother.

Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"A mother really shouldn't know everything about her sons…" Mary muttered, trailing off with a suspicious look at Dean.

"Can we just drop the subject?" Dean said. What would have been a surprise to both his mother and his brother at this point was that Dean, in fact, had neither a wing kink nor a hiccup fetish but, in fact, genuinely did read a lot. About sex. It was one of his favorite subjects. It wasn't his fault that there were so many damn fetishes in the world.

"Guys, I don't b-" Cas was interrupted by a hiccup he kept silent, "believe this was Rowena. When I was human and went several days," he hiccuped, "without food I would...get the hiccups. I didn't know what _hic!_ what they were at the time. It was…" Cas rolled his eyes at himself, "...frightening. _Hic!_ But eventually I knew it meant that I was hungry."

"Did that happen a lot," Dean said, shoving his hands in his pockets and speaking softly, "you getting that hungry?"

Castiel knew this was a point of contention between the two of them. Dean had been very apologetic about his absence during Cas' time of need as a human. But Cas had understood Dean's reasons and accepted any suffering as penance for his own misdeeds. The guilt during that conversation had been palpable. They avoided talking about it. Because they were Winchesters.

"Um…" Castiel began, awkwardly. Fortunately, Sam was there. And he was also a Winchester so he was just as good at deflecting.

"So, you're hungry?" Sam asked.

"I believe so," Cas replied, bouncing with another silent hiccup.

"So...you need to eat," Sam stated.

"I don't feel as though my grace has been compromised _HIC!_ , excuse me. But I think eating might be a good idea," Cas agreed. He licked his lips and only now realized the discomfort he'd been feeling in his abdomen that he thought was a symptom of the spell was actually hunger.

"Okay. I got this," Sam said assertively and went straight to the kitchen as if on a mission.

"Okay, then..." Dean muttered. He gave a questioning look to Castiel who looked just as baffled.

They trailed into the war room, as it was a through-way between the library and the kitchen. Dean peeked into the kitchen curiously.

"You're not making a five course meal in here, are ya? Cause we got a hiccuping angel out here and-but if you are, can you bake a pie?" Dean asked, interrupting himself.

Sam scoffed, "No, I'm almost done. No pie."

"Sam, why do you have to say such hurtful things?" Dean asked.

A moment later Sam exited the kitchen. He had a plate with a sandwich in the center. He delivered it to Cas who had turned a chair around at the war room table so he could be more comfortable. Dean thought it was hilariously out of character, but didn't say anything.

"I hope it doesn't taste like molecules this time," Sam said with a soft smile as he placed the plate down.

"Is this…" Cas asked, trailing off. He hiccuped again as his eyes turned up to the taller hunter.

"PB&J," Sam stated, with a smile. "Grape jelly, not jam. Wanna give it a go?"

Cas nodded, "Thank you, Sam."

"I feel like I missed something," Dean muttered.

"Yep," Sam confirmed, giving no further explanation. "Well? Eat! Hiccups suck."

Sam focused on Cas' reaction as the angel took a bite. In the second chew Cas' face relaxed into a hint of pleasure.

"This is...very good, Sam," Cas said, after he swallowed.

"Want some milk?" Sam asked.

Dean's head had been darting between the two like he were at a tennis match. With a huff, he decided to let it go.

Castiel nodded his head emphatically, "Thank you."

"So, I don't get it," Dean said after Sam came back with Cas' milk. "You need to eat now?"

"Mm-yes," Cas agreed, gulping milk.

"So...you don't have your grace?" Dean asked.

"I do; I would be dead if I didn't. A human body can't possibly support wings of this size," Cas corrected pointing back at the aforementioned attachments. He rolled his shoulder at the weight.

"But...you need to eat so...are you sure you have your grace?"

Cas gave a little glare mid-chew. He stared at the discarded post-it Mary left on the table. He focused on it and squeezed his fingers together. The yellow paper balled itself up. He flung his hand toward Dean and the paper shot directly at Dean's head.

"Yes," Cas answered.

"I deserved that…" Dean said with a nod after flinching at the impact.

Sam chuckled. Then he looked around.

"Wait, where did Mary go?" Sam asked. He found it difficult to call the woman mom. He'd never really met her as a child. So occasionally he found himself reverting to her first name. It was just easier. Still, he did make the effort. But it was hard to process, nonetheless. He swayed from being amazed by her presence to outright confusion in social situations.

"She went back to the library when you brought the milk. I thought you noticed," Cas said, exchanging glances with the two between large bites of the sandwich. His hiccups had faded quickly with the intake of food.

"No, sorry," Dean said, "I was too busy watching you make love to your food."

"I'm honestly not sure why I suddenly need food or why I can taste flavors as they are meant. Perhaps my grace is...occupied with the other changes this vessel has been through. I can't seem to access it in the same way as before. But I know it's there," Cas said, pushing the last bite of PB&J into his mouth and washing it down with more milk. Everything tasted so...good.

"Dude, c'mon. That's just getting gross," Dean said.

"No worse than your hamburger sessions, man," Sam replied.

"I'm not that bad…"

"Yeah, no, you're worse," Sam said, continuing the banter. Then he noticed Cas picking at crumbs on his plate. "Hey, all the stuff's still out on the counter if you want to make another one."

Castiel grunted with a nod, "I'll be right back."

Dean chuckled in disbelief.

"We should see what mom's up to-" Dean said before a loud clatter sounded from the kitchen.

"I'm fine!" Cas yelled to fend off their approach. "Honestly, it makes no sense to hang pots and pans from the ceiling. It doesn't seem very practical."

"He better not destroy the kitchen," Dean said, "it's my happy place."

"Dude, ew," Sam replied with a grimace.

"No! Not! Not like that! I like to cook. Damnit, bitch!" Dean exclaimed.

"Jerk," Sam replied with a smirk. And that exchange felt like the family Sam grew up with more than his own mother.

* * *

Sam followed Dean into the library while Cas made another sandwich. They found Mary sitting in one of the plush chairs with an old book in her lap, her legs akimbo and the book in the center. But she wasn't looking at the book, rather, what looked to be a VERY old piece of paper she'd found inside it.

"Whatchya got?" Sam said, looking over her shoulder.

"Not sure. Kind of looks like doodles. But I think it's in...blood. It was in this spell book. I read some, it's in Latin, but it doesn't have anything to do with angels or wings. Just rudimentary witch stuff. But this paper...I dunno…" Mary said, holding up the red scrawls.

"Oh, is that…" Dean said, unsure.

"It's Enochian," Sam confirmed. He took the paper gingerly as it looked as though too much pressure would destroy it.

Cas showed up at the entrance, already having eaten half of the sandwich he just made.

"Wow," Dean commented.

"I'm hungry," Cas replied defensively.

"Can you read this?" Sam asked, handing the paper over to him.

Cas put his sandwich down and licked his fingers of jelly before accepting it.

"Hm, the penmanship is terrible," Cas noted.

"I think it's blood," Mary said, "I don't think they were too concerned with neatness."

Cas nodded as his eyes skimmed the pages quickly. There was a sudden tightness around his mouth, Sam and Dean noticed. He was too still. His brows furrowed a little too much. His wings spiked making them look less smooth and more jagged.

"What does it say?" Dean finally asked.

Cas continued to glare at the paper as if it was the most interesting and concerning thing in the world.

"Mary, where did you find this?" he asked. Castiel looked up as Mary held up a black book. It was as old the paper in his hand.

"It was in the middle of this. We weren't getting anywhere with angels so I decided to look at some witch lore. This was the first book in the card catalogue. It's just a guide, though. Kind of like a textbook on witchcraft. It wasn't interesting until I found that," Mary said, pointing at the paper in Cas' hand.

"Cas?" Sam asked, worried at how quiet the angel was.

Castiel kept his eyes down and raised his brows as if to negate his discomfort with casualness.

"Um, it's an account of torture. The author was an angel, an archangel, they write," Cas took a breath, "It tells of a spell leading to the involuntary corporeal manifestation of their wings. It's written very quickly, as if they were between...administrations." He swallowed. "They detail the painful plucking of feathers by a witch and it mentions the Book of the Damned being utilized, or at least a spell from it. The angel...didn't understand why the witch needed their feathers but I believe this note was made very near to their death. They were getting weaker with each shaft plucked. They also mentioned the same distance I currently feel with my grace. And starvation."

Castiel's eyes finally looked up from the paper. It was trembling ever-so-slightly in his fingers, one of the few tells that he was bothered.

"Whoever this angel was must have placed their account in the nearest book available, someplace, perhaps, where someone could find it later. They must have died because their account isn't known in heaven. They were probably assumed dead in battle," Castiel finished, laying the paper down on a nearby table and scooting it away from him with the tips of his fingers.

There was silence as they took the information into consideration.

Dean cast a worried but resolute glance to Cas.

"Hey. It's information. It's something we didn't know before. This has happened before. And, whatever they want the feathers for...that's the motive. And we sure as hell won't let what happened to that angel happen to you. Got it?" Dean said, sternly.

Cas gave a little nod. His appetite had dropped. He didn't want to waste the sandwich, though, so he took nibbles at it. It was something to occupy his hands and mind. He tried to ignore the heavy presence of wings at his back. Heavier with the new knowledge.


	6. Ch 6: Pinions are Powerful

**Sometimes having some time away from the story is helpful. Still, I'm getting to a tricky part where the action is supposed to continue to rise. There might be some delays on future chapters.**

 **This chapter is quite a long one, though. It explains a lot of what the boys and Mary are up against. I'm gonna keep on plugging.**

* * *

The house was nice, extravagant but at the same time modest. It was an approachable house that was just shy of a mansion. It was classy. Inside was lavish but tastefully so. It'd been awhile since Crowley had given himself over to the simple pleasures in life: a fine glass of scotch, a good balance of hedonism and opulence. The residence seemed to emit a glow for attracting those who wished the same of their lives but had no desire to put any work into it. It was the foundation of deal making. Hell might've been in shambles leadership wise, but the demon was doing pretty well for himself. Pretty soon, he thought, he might even be the king again. Once anarchy lost its allure.

He sat now in a brown leather, wingback chair in front of his desk nursing amber liquid from a crystal tumbler.

"Is it done yet, mother?" he asked, his eyes peeking over the rim of his glass.

Rowena stood at a pedestal in front of him and huffed over the bowl of sundries gathered for the spell.

"You must have patience, Ferguson," Rowena chided. "This is a delicate process."

For all Rowena did to aggravate him, she did have some uses. Her lust for power was enough to rival his own, so the promise of being in good with the potential king of hell was a tether to her abilities.

The red haired witch's voice rose in volume in a long dead language, an incantation of a spell as she dropped the small feather she'd found on the warehouse floor into the bowl.

There was a blinding flash that had both of them hiding their eyes and then Rowena took up a small tube whispering more words as a string of blue-white energy wormed its way into the glass container. She grinned and held it up, at the bottom there was a little more than a centimeter of blue-white light. She held it up to Crowley, triumphant.

"That's it?" Crowley replied, unimpressed.

Rowena rolled her eyes.

"It was one small feather which molted naturally. It had already faded since it left the host. But, the important thing to note is that it worked. And it will work, once we're able to get more feathers," Rowena said.

Crowley walked over and took the glass tube from her to inspect it. A smirk barely played on his lips.

"That'll be a challenge," he admitted.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Rowena said with a grin. "It's our best bet, after all."

* * *

"Perhaps it would be best to take a break," Castiel suggested as he looked up from a book at the troupe of tired hunters. He was sitting at a table in the library and had been in the same position for what seemed like hours. It might have been, at that.

The tables were strewn with volumes upon volumes of spell books. Mary was thumbing through the card catalogue and pulling them out one after the other because the boys hadn't gotten around to transferring everything to a digital database and no one seemed to remember how to work a card catalogue but Mary.

Sam was holding his head up at his laptop looking for wing manifestation spells on coven centric websites. It was a dangerous search. He was sure his brother would be more excited at the salacious results than he was. But it, thus far, had lead him nowhere concrete.

Dean was flat out snoozing behind a propped up book. He snorted and looked up at Castiel at his comment.

"Yeah, maybe that's not such a bad idea," he agreed, rubbing his face. "Anyone else hungry?"

"I am," Cas said, putting the spellbook down. Dean smirked.

"Starving," Mary said. Sam nodded in agreement, rubbing his eyes.

"'Kay, I'll go whip up something," Dean said with a grunt as he stood up. Ooh, knees and back! Man, getting old sucked. "I got some dough in the fridge. Pizza okay with everyone?"

There were nods all around.

Thirty minutes later the bunker was filled with the smell of cheese and bread. Dean had baked two pizzas with cheese, sprinkled in basil, and drizzled in olive oil. They had made a clearing on one of the library tables (like civilised people) and were crowded around the pizzas putting pieces on their plates.

Dean liked cooking. He liked eating. He liked sex. He figured if there was a way to combine all of those into one profession he'd be happy for the rest of his life. He saw himself as a simple man in that way.

"It doesn't seem right," Mary said, midchew. "I'm the mom. I'm supposed to cook for you guys."

"Please," Dean responded, "gender roles pretty much don't exist anymore these days. Don't worry about it."

"Good," Mary said softly. "I'm a terrible cook." She laughed.

"What! No way! Tomato and rice soup! Best thing ever!" Dean argued.

"You remember that?" Mary asked, disbelieving. "That's seriously the only thing I can cook. I tried to make a lasagna once and almost blew up the kitchen." She guffawed. "John was terrified. After that I stuck with casseroles and sandwiches. I can't believe you remember the soup, though. You were so young."

"It's one of my favorite memories," Dean admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

Cas' wings flapped suddenly and caused napkins to flutter across the table into the pizza.

"Woah! Man, do you mind?" Dean said retrieving the paper from the oily cheese.

"Mm. I think they're cramping," Cas muttered. He closed his eyes and stretched out one wing and then the other, feeling carefully at the chairs several feet behind him with the tips of his feathers so he didn't knock them down. He felt a little better afterward but when he looked up he started at the wide eyes and mouths hung open mid-chew.

"Uh…" the angel muttered awkwardly.

"Like I said, dude, definite awe factor," Dean said.

"Hey Cas," Sam said. Now that the topic had changed from Dean and Mary's relationship he felt a little more confident speaking up.

Cas looked up, taking another bite of pizza and chewing at the cheese until it broke. He looked so earnest as he enjoyed the taste that Sam couldn't help but smile softly. Then his face turned serious again in curious thought. Cas knew how full of thoughts Sam's head was at all times. He was surprised the man could function as well as he did with all of the information constantly running in that anxiety prone mind of his. It was impressive.

"Are you still in contact with heaven? Do you still hear angel radio?" Sam asked.

They hadn't spoke of Castiel's relationship with heaven outloud. It seemed an almost taboo topic. Every time it came up in conversation the angel seemed uncomfortable and his answers were short. This time was no different.

"No," he said, gruffly.

Sam shifted, "I just thought, maybe we could use a little insight. Maybe if you could get in touch with heaven they'd be able to...I dunno...see something we couldn't. Offer some suggestions? Now that God's back-"

"No," Cas said again, sternly. "Despite my...father's return I sincerely doubt there is anyone who is loyal to me in heaven anymore. And I have no loyalty to give to them. And if there were someone who offered help I would doubt their sincerity immensely. Friends do not exist in heaven among angels as they do here. It is no doubt still corrupt despite _Chuck's_ influence. I want nothing to do with it."

There was a finality that sent all three into silence for a while.

Then Sam, and he didn't know why he thought of it or why he had thought it was a good idea, said, "I'm sorry about what happened with Hannah, Cas."

The angel stilled. His jaw worked. The memory shouldn't be as raw as it was, but there it was. And he felt suffocated by the betrayal of the one angel he thought he could trust.

"I need some air," he said softly and rose from the table leaving a half eaten piece of pizza behind.

"Woah, you're going outside?" Dean called out, standing. "I don't think that's a great idea, man. What if someone sees y-"

"Dean," Cas said lowly, "I am going outside. I need to stretch out my wings and...think. As we are in a bunker at the bottom of an abandoned energy plant I sincerely doubt anyone will see me. But if they do I'll assure them they are dreaming. Perhaps a harp would be a good prop. But, regardless, I will not go far." A beat. "Excuse me."

"Fine!" Dean said, exasperated at how hard it was to protect all of his headstrong family members. "But don't come crying to me when someone finds you and captures you and starts running experiments on you!"

The door slammed at Dean's last word and he just shook his head and took another bite of pizza, pouting a little. Manlily pouting.

"Sorry," Sam said, softly to the other two. "I don't know why I said that. I was just…"

"It's okay, Sam," Mary said, putting a hand on his arm. "We all have our...things, our buttons. I guess that's just one of his."

"Yeah, besides, Sammy, that guy has more buttons than an elevator," Dean quipped. At Sam's offended look he said, "What? We all do. We've been to hell and back. Literally! More than once! He's just had longer to stack up the issues than we've had. It sucks. But he just needs some time to himself, that's all. He'll be fine."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam replied, still concerned.

* * *

Castiel had forgotten it was the middle of the day at this point. The sun hit him brightly and he squinted to the light. He took a deep breath and then another. But he was agitated. He could feel emotion squirming inside him. He held his wings in closely, tightly, as if he was trying to prevent himself from being carried away.

The more he tried to clear his mind the more images of Hannah clouded it. The innocence of her existence and her loyalty to him at his worst time. The bravery she showed reigning in heaven at Metatron's capture. And then there was the acceptance of watching him be tortured. Her realization at her actions. The floundering to correct them. Then the knife jutting through her vessel's neck.

Castiel's fist collided with a tree and the tree splintered. But something happened he didn't expect, pain shot fiercely up his arm. He could feel bones splintering and crushing. He made a sound like a whimper in the back of his throat as he watched his arm heal slower than he was used to, not instantaneously. It was as if his grace was expecting the injury to be less than it was. He was, too.

As the sound of cracking bones eventually set his arm and healed the fractures he panted, inspecting his hand. Then he looked at the other one. They were different, but he didn't know how. He'd known that his grace had changed his body to better accommodate the wings, but he wasn't sure of the details.

He looked down at his body, still shirtless. He ran hands along his chest immediately feeling an extra set of muscles below his pectorals. How had he not noticed that before? He felt his shoulder and realized new muscles were supporting the wings there, too. He felt broader, slightly.

He found a tree he could rest his back against and he sat down. He spread his wings on either side of the trunk feeling them chafe slightly across the loose bark. His muscles shivered in relief to have the appendages flexed. He then closed his eyes and looked inward at the state of his anatomy, seeking to see what had been altered.

Castiel started cataloging the changes in his body one by one. The bones in his extremities were remarkably lighter. Perhaps this explained why standing was so much more tiring than it used to be. His grace could only account for so much before his legs started to tire.

He breathed in and noted a separate respiratory system. They were made of a few sets of air sacs, something, perhaps, a bird might have. It was the reason why his chest had expanded. He realized that if he ever developed hiccups again he could probably utilize these air sacs to relieve them as they didn't require the use of his diaphragm. He breathed into this new respiratory system and felt a rush of pure oxygen hitting his bloodstream.

His wings were harder to classify. They were new, foreign, even with their anatomy and presence mapped into his consciousness. They felt nothing like his true wings. His form wasn't really conceivable to this realm. They were a poor facsimile at best. But at the same time, given the realm he was currently in, they were impressive. And, if he were to be honest with himself (as he had not done with the boys) the wings Rowena had manifested for him were in much better shape than his actual wings. They were strong and full in a way that gave him a pang of sadness for the uselessness of his true form's state. If the brothers knew what he really looked like he feared they would treat him even more like a fragile creature than they already did.

He opened his eyes. He needed to run a test on a new suspicion.

* * *

Castiel burst through the door of the bunker, energized from his meditation. Sam tried to come up to apologize but the angel held up a hand to stop him. He went straight to Dean.

"Dean," he said, grabbing the man's hand. Dean's fingers were still slick with pizza grease.

"Uh...you gonna propose cause…" Dean said, confused.

"Do you trust me?" Cas said quickly.

"Well...yeah I guess-AAH!" Dean yelped as Cas stabbed his hand with a stick he'd found outside. Cas had fashioned the stick into a small spear and he made sure to stab the older brother's hand with enough force to cause considerable damage to the soft tissue within the human's palm. "Dude! What the hell! I'm not the one who mentioned your screwed up family! That was totally Sam! Ow!"

Cas said nothing, instead, taking a long, pale feather from his other hand. The feather was the length of Dean's forearm and bloody at the end of its quill. He placed it on Dean's hand and closed the hunter's fingers over it. A blue-white light emanated from the length of the feather and dissolved into Dean's skin and into his arm.

Dean's mouth hung open as Cas removed the feather to reveal no evidence of his prior injury.

"Woah...I think that knot in my back is gone…" Dean said in awe. "I've had that for over a year…"

Castiel was less relieved as he slammed the spent, bloody feather down on the war room table. He leaned forward against the table, agitated, his arms bracing him.

"That's where my grace is." he finally said, "It's in my wings. That's why it was hard for me to locate it. I've been altered severely. The changes my body, this vessel, has undergone is taking far more energy to sustain than my grace can account for, hence the reason I need to eat. And my inability to define molecules in food," Cas said, not looking up. "The angel who wrote the account of their own torture...their feathers were being used for the grace contained in them. That's what Rowena wants and probably what Crowley wants. That's why they did this to me. They want to farm my grace."

Silence. Dean rubbed his hand idly, looking down in thought.

"An archangel would have more power than I, and would have sustained longer than I. I imagine it's a miracle my grace was able to support me at all as a seraph," he ruminated. Especially one in such a state as he was, he did not add.

He drummed his fingers on the table finally sparing a glance up at his audience.

"We'll figure this out, Cas. We'll reverse the spell somehow," Dean said.

Cas took a breath and nodded, though his face was full of doubt.

"Did it hurt?" Sam asked after a moment.

Castiel scowled. "Now is not the time for bad pick-up lines, Sam!"

"No! I...though I am really impressed you made that connection...Um, no. Did it hurt when you pulled the feather out?" he asked.

Castiel's face softened, "Yes. A great deal."

They all nodded as they took that in. And, somehow, knowing exactly what they were up against didn't make any of them feel any better.

"There...is one discovery of interest," Castiel said, looking up. "I believe with the alterations of my vessel I might actually have-it might be possible that is-for me to attain some semblance of flight. If nothing else my final days alive might at least be spent enjoying the exhilaration of flying. It should be quite the experience."

"They won't be your final days, Cas, Dean and I won't let that happen," Sam responded resolutely.

"Not by a long shot," Dean added. "You're gonna be stuck with us for a long ass time."

Cas looked to Mary who was chuckling.

"If there's one thing I've learned," she said with a smile, "It's that it's very hard to kill anyone in this family. At least forever. We're just too damn stubborn."


	7. Ch 7: Throw Your Pinions to the Wind

**I was stuck after the last chapter so I changed gears in order to pull the story back around. I suppose the biggest disclaimer here is that all I know of flying and feathers is what I've learned from other fanfictions about flying and feathers. So forgive my ignorance.**

 **This certainly isn't a fantastic fanfiction but it is one that I'm motivated to continue. Let's hope, for all our sakes (you three people reading) that the motivation continues to actual completion.**

* * *

"I can't believe we're doing this," Dean grumbled. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. He sent sidelong glances to the shirtless, winged man a few feet away. "Crowley and Rowena are probably looking for him-for _us_ right now! And here we are, about as out in the open as we can get!"

Dean's voice rose in a yell as if the demon might be watching them at this moment.

The four intrepid hunters were not currently researching reversal spells for Cas' condition. Nor were they fortifying protection against a demon or a witch. Instead they had followed Cas up a trail behind the bunker ending in a cliff. The angel said that he had walked there before many times for the view. It made him feel 'whole.'

Sam could understand why the view could do that for the angel. He wasn't scared of heights but peeking over was enough for an instinctual vertigo to set in. Everything looked so far away, so small. Trees. Houses. Roads. Sam wondered if it reminded Cas of what it was like before he came to Earth for his extended stay. He wondered if this was at all similar to the view and perspective Cas had of Earth from Heaven.

"He...did say he thought he could fly," Sam said with trepidation when he walked away from the cliff nearer to his brother.

Both of the brothers were feet behind the edge of the cliff. Dean wasn't a fan of heights and Sam was starting to become uncomfortable with them himself. Mary, on the other hand, was sidled in a crouch beside Cas' standing form fearlessly studying the ground below from the very edge of the drop.

"That's supposed to make me feel better!" Dean exclaimed. "So, what, we don't wait for Crowley to do the job himself, we just let him plummet to his death on his own?"

"You are both aware that I can hear you," Castiel stated, looking around at the two. Mary stood up, again, seemingly fearless and nonchalant that she was standing at a precipice of such a vast drop.

"Yeah, okay, so, yes. Yes, we are," Dean said with a little sass. "It just so happens that one, we don't want you to be found and tortured by a demon and his witch mother and two, we'd rather not have you exploding at the bottom of a cliff. I dunno, it's just a weird thing we have about friends and family. Not wanting them to be tortured or exploded."

Sam snorted.

Cas frowned.

"Running from Crowley and Rowena is not a rational choice. We cannot escape their searching forever, nor would I want to. It would be better if they found us where we have the advantage and can better protect ourselves in an altercation. Besides, we already have the upper hand by knowing their true motives and their possible plan.

"If I am not successful in my attempts to fly my grace, despite its current limitations, will not let me die nor will I…'explode,' as you so colorfully put it. I will mend and then I will know the limits of my body," Cas said.

"Why do you wanna fly anyway, huh?" Dean argued. "You got solid ground, right here! Really nice not falling sturdy ground."

"While I am well aware of your issues with flight," Cas ground out, a little frustrated, "I do not share those phobias."

He countered Dean and walked toward him with a staunch disposition what was more than a little intimidating.

"The reason I want to fly, Dean," he continued, tightly, "is because I miss it. I don't think you or Sam or Mary understand the state of my true form's wings. I do not fly, or 'zap' as you call it, because I can't. My wings are _skeletal_ compared to their original condition."

Cas' wings flared as if in example of how full the wings Rowena's spell had given him were.

"This might be the last time I get to feel the exhilaration of flight before...before I'm not able to anymore. So, yes, this might be a petty venture to you. And, yes, it is not the wisest course of action given the time frame of our predicament. But if I am to truly embrace all that is available to me with free will then I plan to do so before it is too late. Too many times I've made terrible decisions using the excuse of free will, mistakes that have caused thousands of lives lost. If the worst that comes out of this flight attempt is to injure myself than at least I have isolated only I to my bad decision," Cas said, giving a challenging squint.

Dean looked the angel up and down. Cas was still shirtless and in his dress pants which, in its own right, was a ridiculous sight. The wings only exacerbated the goofiness of visage.

"It's not only you that would suffer if you got injured or died, Cas," Dean said quietly.

Dean's reply must have startled the angel somewhat because he lost contact with the hunter's gaze.

"I know," Cas admitted softly, eyes flickering to Sam and Mary as well.

"But," Dean sighed, resigned. "You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. So. Go Team Free Will. Just try not to become a Pollock painting on the ground, okay?"

It took a moment but Cas smiled, understanding the reference.

"I'll try my best," he responded. He turned around then and returned to the edge of the cliff.

"My assumption, given the weight and length of my body, is that I would probably be more appropriate to soar as opposed to actually fly, similar to large birds or winged dinosaurs. Given that Kansas is quite windy this time of year, I don't doubt that I can catch some sort of updraft that would provide enough lift for me to drift for a time. I doubt I could take off from the ground which is why I thought taking off from this height would be more logical," Cas said, talking as much to himself as to those around him.

"I guess...it makes sense," Mary said after a moment.

"Jeeze," Dean muttered, turning his upper body away from the cliff for a moment.

"So you're just going to...jump off?" Sam asked with a concerned squint.

"With my wings fully extended, yes," Cas said, taking his shoes and socks off and placing them a foot away from the edge. The less weight the better, he figured. His toes curled into the ground instinctively.

"Can we just...get this over with?" Dean complained, feeling more uneasy by the second.

Castiel mounted the edge of the cliff. Mary gave him a touch to the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Cas nodded with a soft smile and Mary stepped back a little to give his wings room.

Cas turned around to the group, "If I don't make it…"

"Seriously! C'mon! No! No last speeches! Just jump off the damn cliff!" Dean yelled gruffly. He then hid his eyes with his hand. He couldn't watch this. "Gonna give me a friggin' heart attack…"

Cas nodded and bent his knees. He spread his wings their entire span of 20 feet. The wind was already catching them and making them billow. Cas posed almost like a diver before he leapt into the air.

From behind Dean's hand he could hear both Mary and Sam gasp. Then a moment later he heard Sam whisper, "Oh my God!"

"Crap, crap, crap, crap!" Dean chanted, still not looking beyond his hand. "Did he Pollock himself? He Pollock-ed himself, didn't he?"

"Dude, you gotta see this!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean peeked out of his fingers to look at Sam peering over the edge of the cliff, curiosity winning out over fear. He gave Sam a dubious expression. Then he felt hands on his shoulders and met eyes with Mary.

His mother's eyes were glimmering and her mouth was pulled up into the biggest smile Dean had ever seen her make.

"Come on," Mary said softly and took Dean's hand, leading her son to the edge despite his trepidation. "Look."

Mary pointed to what looked, at a distance, to be a large, white bird. But the figure was immediately distinguishable to Dean as Cas. He was circling nearer to the ground but was rising occasionally with what Dean assumed to be wind currents.

Dean's breath quickened, "Holy shit. He's flying." Then he had to step back because he was getting serious vertigo from watching Castiel's form shrink and enlarge as the air carried him up and down in wide spirals. "Son of a bitch…" he whispered, in awe.

Sam had a goofy grin on his face and he let out a sudden 'woot' in childish excitement that Dean had to laugh at.

"Okay," Dean conceded, "gotta admit, that's kinda awesome."

Sam laughed in return and Dean appreciated the look of joy on his younger brother's face.

Sam watched Castiel's form come closer and closer to the top of the cliff and become more and more defined. He and Mary watched in amazement as Cas flapped his wings to attempt to gain altitude. It was taking a lot of work, but the angel was slowly ascending again with the help of the air currents. He crested the edge of the top of the cliff and everyone skittered back as his body toppled forward onto the ground, stirring up dust, and falling awkwardly into the ground, momentum making his landing neither graceful nor efficient. He kept running and toppling forward toward a tree until, realizing what was happening, Dean, Sam and Mary ran to his aid trying to stop his toppling.

"Woah! Woah! Landing gear, man!" Dean yelled as he grabbed at one of Cas' arms while Mary grabbed the other. Sam ran toward the tree and braced himself between it and Castiel, holding his hands out to catch the angel's shoulders before he collided.

They ended up in a heap of arms, legs, and feathers at the base of a tall oak tree breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked Cas breathlessly as she held his shoulder.

Cas looked up at them grinning ear to ear, most likely the biggest grin he'd ever had.

"I am very _very_ good," Cas replied with a laugh, face flush and eyes glimmering. "I'm...sorry about the landing. I'm not used to...the physics of this physical plane."

"Yeah, well," Sam said, detangling himself from the group and rubbing his back a little. "Minus the landing that was...pretty damn cool."

Castiel laughed again. It was as if a tightness in his chest had loosened and he could breath easier. He looked to Dean who was rubbing his face.

"Dean," he said.

"Yep," Dean replied, looking up, still trying to get his breath back.

"I didn't die or explode," he said a little cockily.

"No. You didn't. Don't suppose I could convince you never to do that again, huh?" Dean said.

"No!" Castiel exclaimed, still grinning.

"Fine, just work on your damn landing," Dean said with a grunt, getting up. Castiel helped him with a nod.

* * *

On the way back to the bunker Mary had Castiel talking about his experience and Cas was more than happy to do so. Sam was next, eyeing his older brother's tense posture. Dean was in the front disgruntled at how much Mary and Cas were lagging.

"It was different than flying in the ethereal plane," Cas was saying. "But it was also similar. The rush of air and the feeling of flight was comforting. The unpredictability of the physical plane made it very exciting. I thought I would never feel that sensation again…"

Cas continued as Sam fell in pace with his brother.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just want to get back to the bunker. I feel like we're sitting ducks out here. Didn't bring any extra weapons. That was stupid and careless. Should've thought of that," Dean muttered, his voice hitching with the force which he was stomping his feet.

"Good point," Sam said. It'd been such a spur of the moment urge on Castiel's part that little thought was put into the preparation of the journey. Sure, both Dean and Sam had their basic weapons with them. Dean had Ruby's knife and a gun. Sam had a gun packing salt rounds tucked. But they certainly weren't prepared for an attack.

"The sooner we get back to the bunker, the better," Dean huffed. "Guys! Pick up the pace back there!"

Mary and Cas quickened their walking at the urgency of Dean's voice.

As they reached the door Dean's tenseness eased a little taking the rear of the three to look behind and make sure they weren't being followed as Sam used the key to unlock the bunker. Dean looked at Sam and then looked back behind him.

"Hello, boys," Crowley said inches from Dean's face. As soon as Dean drew his knife Crowley threw it aside with a flick of his hand. "Mary," the demon nodded. Then he grinned, wide and thin. "Feathers," he said to the angel.


End file.
